


Like an Old Road

by coricomile



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Time Travel, Trope Bingo Round 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 12:41:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6006448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been wandering for the better part of an hour, the soles of Ianto's shoes sliding on the wet cobblestones of the street, searching for someplace to hide from the rain. Ianto can feel the cold already building up in his sinuses and behind his eyes. He'll have to see Owen when they get back to the Hub, which is icing enough on this already paltry cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like an Old Road

**Author's Note:**

> A tiny nothing to attempt to kick my writer's block away. First of five in the simultaneous line bingo for trope bingo.

The rain is heavy and thick, falling in sheets dense enough to block out everything in sight. A few streetlamps try valiantly to keep shining, but either the wind or the leak of rain puts them out neatly. Ianto shivers under the weight of both his and Jack's coats, fighting the wave of nausea that's threatening to take him out. 

He wonders if that's what it always feels like to travel by vortex manipulator. There one second, rooted firmly in the present, and then inside the turning brightness of the time vortex. It's unpleasant, had been unpleasant even when Jack had covered his eyes, but he couldn't have not gone. Not when Jack had been so excited about it. 

They've been wandering for the better part of an hour, the soles of Ianto's shoes sliding on the wet cobblestones of the street, searching for someplace to hide from the rain. Ianto can feel the cold already building up in his sinuses and behind his eyes. He'll have to see Owen when they get back to the Hub, which is icing enough on this already paltry cake.

"Just a little more," Jack says softly, guiding Ianto through the empty streets with a firm hand on his shoulder. He had said he didn't know the place personally, but Ianto imagines everything starts to look the same after so long. "There's got to be- ah."

The building Jack stops in front of is barely a shack, nearly falling down on itself, the roof visibly rotting and the windows covered with a layer of greasy soot. Jack fiddles with the door for a moment, his fingers slipping off the brass knob a few times, before letting out a triumphant sound as the door creaks open. 

Inside is just as weathered and frozen as outside, but the fall of rain has been relegated to one side of the room. A dark puddle spreads from the door to the hearth of the ruins of a wood burning stove, turning black as it gathers. Jack shuts the door and gathers Ianto into his arms. It does little to warm the chill that's settled itself in Ianto's skin.

"Sorry," Jack says, breathing hot air over the frozen tip of Ianto's ear. Ianto's skin aches as it's warmed too quickly. "Something went wrong with the co-ordinates."

"It's not an adventure with you unless something's gone horribly wrong," Ianto mutters, even as he nudges his face into the warm spot below Jack's chin. Under the smell of rain and ozone, he still smells heady and sharp and spicy. "Where are we?"

"Virginia, 1862," Jack says once he's pulled his arm free. He frowns down at the vortex manipulator, sighing. His breath blows against the nape of Ianto's neck, sending him into another shivering fit. "Always a war. I think this thing's tuned to it these days."

"Or it could just be you," Ianto says. He wouldn't be surprised. Jack's a draw for danger like nothing else. Apparently he always has been. "How long until we can go back?"

"Give it an hour or so to get its charge." Jack herds Ianto towards a relatively dry corner of the room, fussing over him until he's shed jackets and wet shoes and is wrapped in a filthy smelling but warm quilt. The stitches are visible, the cloths old and dearly loved. Ianto wonders where the person who owned it went, if they'd been a casualty of the war or if they'd been sent away to it. "I'd been aiming for Toronto in 2134. You should see it. The Prime Minister completely renovated the city. There's this amusement park- ah. Next time."

"I think I've had my fill of time travel for a while," Ianto says. His stomach churns at the thought of the return journey. He sneezes, going dizzy with the force of it. Jack winces. "Is this where I tell you to take off your wet clothes and warm me up?" Jack grins broadly and does as asked, peeling his sodden shirt away from his chest and dropping his trousers. 

There's an awkward moment of adjustment as they settle onto the creaking cot, chilled arms and legs bumping under the too small quilt. Ianto ends up in the warm cradle of Jack's thighs, leaned back against his chest. The bed clearly wasn't made to accommodate two men of their size, but Jack seems unbothered by the cold wall against his back. 

"I really did mean this as a holiday," Jack says when Ianto's finally gotten himself comfortable. He rubs his thumb over Ianto's sternum, soothing him. "A week in sunny Toronto, away from Torchwood and Cardiff and the mess. I never was any good at holidays."

"This is nice enough," Ianto says. 

The thing of it is that it actually is nice, save for the head cold that's sure to come. Ianto's never had a proper holiday. Not one where he goes somewhere new and leaves his life at home for a small chunk of time. It's not something he's ever really wanted. Torchwood is stressful, but they need him and he needs them. He's accepted that.

The patter of rain on wood and glass is comforting, an endless drone that lulls Ianto into dozing. He's warm under the quilt, Jack's body familiar and strong around him, and the shaking of his hands has almost entirely stopped. He likes to think that they could have done this in Cardiff, just taken a day to themselves, but the reality of it isn't so simple.

There's always something to be done, some greater good to be served. Some days, Ianto feels the shortness of his life slipping away, beaten apart by the constant demands of aliens and paperwork. He can't imagine how Jack's lived with those demands for centuries. 

"If you hadn't gone into the Time Agency," Ianto says, turning enough to rest his head on Jack's chest, "what would you have done?" He listens to the thud of Jack's heart, the slight wheeze of his breath. 

"I think I was always meant for time travel," Jack says after a moment. "There was nothing else I really wanted. Maybe I would have tried to fight in the war. Boshane- It was completely devastated. If I could have done something there, I might have tried."

"Always a war," Ianto repeats. Jack hums. He presses a kiss to Ianto's temple, dry and sweet. 

"We can go back now if you want," Jack says. The rain hasn't let up any, the sharp spark of lightning cracking against the sky making the room glow for a moment. Ianto curls his hand around Jack's wrist, covering the face of the vortex manipulator, and pulls it around his waist. 

"We're on holiday," he says. "There's no rush." 

Jack laughs and squeezes him in. Their lives are hectic, and Ianto's not long for this world, not in the way Jack is, but he can take this moment, somewhere in a violent past, and live inside of it for just a few moments longer.


End file.
